what I have called the plastic literary qualities; but shape itself it
will, effectively and with living force, without the fullest command,
while the readiest mastery over these qualities can never give
vitality to style when are wanting primary resources. Literary
substance which does not shape itself successfully (it may not be with
the fullest success) is internally defective, is insufficient;
for if it throb with life, it will mold a form for its embodiment,
albeit that form, from lack of complete command of the secondary
agents, will not be so graceful or rich as with such command it would
have been. Wordsworth has made to English literature a permanent
addition which is of the highest worth, in spite of notable plastic
deficiencies. A conception that has a soul in it will find itself a
body, and if not a literary body, one furnished by some other of the
fine arts; or, wanting that, in practical enterprise or invention. And
the body or form will be stamped with the inward lineaments of the
man. Style issues from within, and if it does not, it is not style,
but manner. Words get all their force from the thoughts and feelings
behind them. They are necessary media, created, molded, and combined
by mental wants. Picking and polishing words and phrases is
ineffectual without the picking and polishing of the thoughts: below
the surface of words lies that which controls and vivifies style. And
then between the substance, the mental material, and the executive
faculties there must be lively harmony. The executive power is a
purely intellectual composite instrument; the force that
wields it is feeling. For the best style the wielding force must be
fine as well as rich and strong, and the shaping, harmonizing
instrument of superfine temper and smiling willingness.

Style, in writing, is the art of putting into words what you think or
feel, in such a way as to make the best of it--presupposed, that what